A New Flame
by Cecero
Summary: The Firekeeper struggles to control a new flame, a flame in her core, stoked by an Unkindled. Should she stay true to her duty, or should she allow herself to be selfish for once?
1. The Flame, Replaced

Of late, the Firekeeper had grown weaker and weaker to the flame. The flame that enshrouded the coiled sword still bent at her whims, but that was not the flame that plagued her. It was the flame in the pit of her stomach, the flame that was stoked every day. And the bellows was the Ashen One.

"Look at me."

A familiar voice breaks her out of her reverie, and she becomes aware of her back pressed against the wall, of the hands on her hips and back of her head. She cannot see him, but she can _sense_ him, his face close to hers, the loving desire in his eyes. His breath hits her lips, and she can smell the pleasant scent of smoke that shadows all Unkindled.

He kisses her neck, the her jaw, then her ear, whispering as he does so.

"I...Love...You." He pulls back to stare at her, drinking in every pore, every hair, every part of her gorgeous form. He puts his head to hers, his forehead pressing against the cool metal of her visor.

The Firekeeper shivers at each touch, bolts of pure ecstacy shooting up her spine as if he has the lips of Aphrodite herself.

"Aaah-shen one..." She pants, a moan of unimaginable pleasure inturruping her own speech. Her arms cling to him, and she writhes to get closer to him, throwing away her trademark humility to get closer to her champion of ash.

Firekeepers were told their whole lives that they belong to a cause; the most noble cause of protecting the flame, and serving those who would link it. They are raised to forgo any desire they may have, to resign themselves to watching Firelink Shrine for all their days. She had done so dutifully.

Until _he_ appeared. At their first meeting, he was the same as any other, full of questions and wonder. While most who returned to the shrine were desolate and traumatized from death or horror, he returned laden with souls. She prepared to channel them for him, but instead he had walked straight past her to the shrine handmaid.

He had returned moments later, his arms carrying dozens of moss clumps. He set to laying them across the steps facing the fire, propping up a sheild so that she may recline. Once finished, he took her hand gently to lead her to the shrine. His hand was bare, calloused and powerful, yet so gentle. Guiding her to her new seat, he had bowed and left the shrine, leaving her clutching her hand to her chest in shock.

That had been the spark that soon grew to a raging inferno. Every time she heard the telltale steps of the leggings only he wore, the flame would grow hotter. Every kiss he placed upon her lips would stoke it so much she fears she will be lit aflame. For the first time in her life, she wants something, and it is the most powerful want that any person could have.

He slides a knee between her legs, Happiness exploding within him when he sees the ecstasy it brings her. He could live happily laying in a single spot, so long as he could see her face light up with joy. He needs no happiness, for the mere sight of her smiling face brings a smile to his.

Their lips crash together once again, each of them desperately pleading to any god that may hear; 'let me get closer.'

He wants to be in her, in a sense both carnal and spiritual.

He runs his thumb over her chin, twisting his hand and running his long finger down her neck, over her breasts, finally resting on her stomach. He kneads her stomach, each movement sending jolts of pleasure to the shrine that lies behind it.

"Ashen One!" A voice drifts up from the shrine, the noise encroaching upon the peace of their sanctuary next to the tree of giants. They stare at each other, fighting to reign in their emotions.

The Ashen One whispers in her ear, placing his head upon her chest to savor the sound of her heartbeat. Reluctantly pulling away, he heads to investigate what he is needed for.

The Fire Keeper stands there, her long white hair and silk robes billowing in the evening wind. She clutches her hands to her chest, reciting the words that were whispered to her.

"An age of dark, to stay with you."

T.B.C


	2. Wavering Restraint

"Thou art spending time with the Ashen One, more and more. Perhaps thine heart hath been kindled?"

The Firekeeper whirled her head towards the crippled lord, her heart caught in her throat. "Pray tell, how do you mean, my lord Ludleth?"

"I hath seen thine interactions with the Ashen One. Only little actions, to be sure, but quite telling all the same. Thy quiet titters when he acts foolish. Those twirls thou performs for him."

"I... I do not treat any denizens of the shrine differently. With all due respect, my Lord, you must be mistaken."

"Perhaps," he says quietly. "Perhaps."

The Firekeeper turns to face the bonfire, leaning back on her moss throne. She quite liked the little chair the Ashen One had made for her; sitting on the cold stone steps would make her bottom sore.

The little lord's comment unnerves her. Was she truly so obvious, or was it merely that he is unusually perceptive? Could the other residents of the shrine know of her treasonous wants?

She doubts it would matter to any of them. No, the only one who might feel shame is her. A lifetime of commitment. Would she truly throw that away for a man? Perhaps that was the impetus for stripping the firekeepers of their vision; so that they may never gaze upon the face of a man and lose their hearts to him. So that they may not gaze upon the mountain ranges encircling the shrine and wish to see past them. If that is truly why their vision was stripped, then it they are fools. The heart does not need eyes to desire.

She knows this well, for she feels the twinge of want for the first time in her life. The want for her Ashen love to lay beside her, the want to walk the winding streets of lothric and breathe in the scent of freshly baked bread that lothric bakers are famed for. The Ashen One had brought with him a torrent of desire, overwhelming her with the wants she had blinded herself to for so long.

She looks towards the entrance if the shrine. The shadows are short, signifying the sun rests overhead. She should leave soon; were she to head to her love's rendezvous point the same time as him, suspicions might arise.

She slowly stands up, ascending the stone stairs. Her smooth, pale feet are bare, allowing her to recognize the texture of the floor, which tells her what part of the shrine she is in. She has refined many of her senses as well as gained new ones while tending the flame. She can feel the movement of every lit bonfire throughout the land, as well as who may be using it.

She taps her visor as she climbs the winding stairs around the shrine, a metallic ring bouncing off the walls so that she shan't stray too far and fall.

She steps out into the shining sun, her cloak billowing in the wind and her feet crunching on twigs from the tree of giants.

The wind ruffles her slightly disheveled hair, sending a few pale strands fluttering in the wind.

There is a bright flash in the back of her mind, followed by the memory of a particular scent. Her favorite scent, in fact.

The captivating smell of smoke, sweat, iron, and the arousing stench of a fertile man. Her champion has come home.

She hears the measured clanking of his Carim leggings. She loves to run her fingers over the ornate engravings on the calves, perfectly fitted to the muscular flesh that makes her core twitch when she touches them. Her heart begins to flutter as she hears the swish of the leather skirts

that are the staple of the Carim armor of Morne. She paces back and forth, her knees quivering and forcing her to lean against the tree of giants.

Each time she would meet her love, it would be more intense than the last. They have yet to experience their first union; the opportunity never presented itself. There was always a battle to be fought, souls to be channeled, allies to assist and invaders to be banished.

Once, he had pressed her against the shrine wall, writhing against her with barely contained lust. Then, just as he began to unfasten her cloak, he unwillingly disappeared to assist his covenant brethren. The poor Firekeeper was left panting and disheveled, her whole body aching for release. For the first time in her life, she had felt decimated, the sudden lack of his touch excruciating beyond belief.

By the time he had returned, other undead had as well, and she was kept busy with the task of channeling souls.

By now, the Firekeeper was not far from being driven mad. Her every waking moment is fixated on the thought of coupling with her champion. She will scurry about dark corners of the shrine, desperately avoiding the other undead warriors.

The mere touch of their hands for the purpose of channeling souls would send chills down her spine; if those hands happened to belong to her champion, she would be wracked with shivering, her knees threatening to collapse from under her.

Were these feelings as intense for everyone else? She doubts it. Her lack of sight amplified pleasurable touch. Without knowing where she would be touched, the anticipation would make her heart race and her lips quiver when she finally felt his touch.

He merely needs to rest at any bonfire and she would sense it almost as clearly as if he were right beside her. The Firekeeper loves running her hands over the bumps in his armor, the ridges coming together to form a thick metal ribcage encircling the Ashen One. When she could, she would do nothing but run her hands over his body, memorizing every scar and every bulge of muscle.

The Ashen One is never shy about what he wears. He focuses only on the utility of his armor, not the looks. Of course, this had gotten him more than a few sideways looks from the residents of firelink. Once, a lithe, curvy figure had arisen from the fire, clad in the armor of the Dancer of the Boreal valley. The figure's rotund posterior had been so entrancing that Patches, Greirat, and Orbeck all rushed to the figure, nearly clamoring over each other to welcome her.

"My lady! Where might you hail from? Be it Irithyll? Quite a lovely place, rea-" Orbeck's blathering was then interrupted by a red-faced Patches.

"Miss, might you be interested in a revival ring? Normally, I would charge for it, but I came across it so easily, and I am sure you have great need of it."

"You're very pretty," Greirat said simply.

The figure appeared disturbed, and slowly lifted it's helm.

It was the Ashen one.

The three other men had visibly recoiled, scurrying back to their respective haunts.

Though it was light, sturdy armor, the shape obscured his masculine traits, save for one of the Firekeeper's favorite parts: his toned bottom. Touching it was one of the few ways she could embarrass him, and she reveled in his awkward stuttering.

The clanking of metal on stone ceases, replaced with the gentle rustle of grass and dirt. Snapped out of her reverie, she raises her head to the Ashen One, feeling the familiar quickening of her heart. She can sense countless souls within him, circling around the massive, powerful soul of a lord.

He rushes forward, embracing her, rubbing his cheek against her temple. If the Firekeeper had eyes, they would surely be crossed in pleasure right now.

Little do they know that a jealous dark figure looms, aiming to seperate the two for good.


	3. Pump-A-Rum

"PUMP-A-RUUUUUUUUM!"

A black figure launches itself at the two lovers, yelling loudly. Before the Ashen One can draw his weapon, the figure collides with the Firekeeper. He draws his blade to strike... A girl?! No, a crow!?

Said girl/crow turns to face him, her neck length black hair fluttering. She has a normal face, starkly contrasting her limbs.

Her arms are coated in black feathers, with a small talon towards the end of each wing. Her legs are normal down to just above her knees, where the rough skin of her large talons starts. Her torso is human, clothed in brown rags that only cover her chest and hips.

She spits a pebble at him.

"YOU NOT PUMP-A-RUM!" She crows. "MOMMA IS PUMP-A-RUM!" The Ashen One stares at her. "This is _your-"_

"No!" She cries.

"You did _that_ with a crow?!"

"NO!!"

"Momma," The bird-girl says. "New momma," she whispers, clinging to the Firekeepers breasts. The Ashen One's eye twitches.

"There, see! I _didn't_ lay with a crow!" Those are words she thought she would never say. She turns to the girl currently wraping her talons around her. "What is your name, little chick?"

"M-me, me, Pump-A-Rum," she squawks.

"You, you, momma." She turns to face the Ashen One. "You, you, ugly-feather head."

"You little-" The Firekeeper silences his outburst with a glare. "Come, little one. Let us get you washed and clothed."

"What about our... _Session?!"_ The Ashen One says.

"It can wait."

"But _I_ can't!" He whines.

"Then you shall have to 'take care' of it. Just make sure to take your gauntlets off." She flicks her hair over her shoulder, walking away with Pump-A-Rum sticking her tongue out at him. The Ashen One growls, then goes off in search of a quiet place to tame his darkstalker.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With the Nestling freshly washed and preened, the Firekeeper sets to making clothes for her. The little chick fusses and flaps, not willing to wear anything that covers her entire torso. Soon, the floor of the shrine is littered with feathers, and both the chick and the Keeper are out of breath.

Pump-A-Rum stands, striding over to the communal chest of drawers spare clothes are put in. Her gait is a strange one, her legs striding forth like a crow, but with her wings swinging at her sides. Grasping awkwardly with her talons, she holds up a frilly thing consisting of tight fitting black shorts. Originally a pair of Faraam leggings, it had been torn, leaving naught but shorts of shiny leather just barely covering the upper thigh. Also in her grasp is a short halter top that only reaches down to mid-torso, the kind the female warriors of the desert would wear.

The Firekeeper gasps. "Pump-A-Rum, those are not for little crows!" Pump-A-Rum squawks loudly at her.

"What's with all the commotion?" The Ashen One walks up behind them. "Oh... That's too adult for you, feather-brain."

The Firekeeper smacks him.

The little crow fumes. "PUMP-A-RUM IS BIG! OLD MOMMA SAID PUMP-A-RUM IS OVER TWO HUNDRED MOONS!"

The shrine is silent as the two humans count on their fingers. The Ashen One finishes first. "YOU'RE SEVENTEEN?!" He exclaims.

"Or sixteen," the Firekeeper says. Her eyes suddenly widen, and she clutches the Ashen One. " _Mine,"_ she squawks, shooting a pointed glare at Pump-A-Rum.

His mouth hangs open, and Pump-A-Rum

steps back, suprised. "Pump-A-Rum no want make eggs with ugly-feather head."

"It's called hair," the Ashen One quips. "And you have it too, bird brain." This earns him another smack. " _What?!_ It's technically true."

The Firekeeper sighs, kneeling to take the clothes. "She is small for her age- for a human, at least- So I shall need to make some alterations." She gathers the clothes in her arms, hurrying off to buy sewing equipment from the shrine handmaid.

The two remaining were left to shuffle their feet (and claws, respectively.) Pump-A-Rum gives the Ashen One an ugly stare. "Stay away from momma," she squawks.

"No."

"Yes! My momma! Need find new momma for big sis!"

The Ashen One leans forward curiously. "Your... Sister? Is she here?" Pump-A-Rum shakes her head.

"Nest in Archtree," she says, her voice starting to quiver. "Pump-A-Rum no all-crow, but Pump-A-Rum fly," she says, stretching her wings to illustrate. "Sis is all-crow, but... She no fly. S-she f-faaalll!" She cries softly, trying in vain to wipe the tears off with a wing. "Big-sis Quork... You were Pump-A-Rum. You were Pickle-Pee..." She starts bawling.

" _What did you do?!"_ The Firekeeper stomps towards the Ashen One, her bare feet sending up puffs of ash. She pinches his nose painfully.

"Nothing! She just started crying about her sister." The Firekeeper walks to her, kneeling. Brushing the hair out of Pump-A-Rum's eyes, she holds out the Newly-hemmed clothes.

"Pretty fast work, for a blind woman," the Ashen One quips.

"One does not require sight for sewing. 'Tis one of the few things I _can_ do." She helps Pump-A-Rum out of her rags, the Ashen One quickly looking away.

After some rustling, a squawk, and flying feathers, the Firekeeper speaks. "Finished."

The Ashen One turns to face them.

His jaw drops. Pump-A-Rum is awkwardly shifting her halter top, her stomach exposed. The ripped Faraam leggings come down to just above her mid-thigh, squeaking softly with every movement.

"My love," the Firekeeper says coldly. "I _do_ hope that you are looking at _me._ " The Ashen One blushes, tearing his gaze away from Pump-A-Rum.

"Anyway," he says. "What do we do about her family? We can't just leave her alone, much as I'd like to."

"We look," she replies.

"You mean _I_ look."

 _Smack!_


	4. Short and Tweet

A.N. There will be a 1 yr (in the story) gap in this fic and my Bloodborne fic, as well as my other dark souls fic. A new fic will take place during the gap, featuring characters from all three, mainly Priscilla, Sær, the Hunter, the Doll, Firekeeper, and the Ashen One.

This way I can update all of them without breaking continuity. As usual, O.L.T. will take priority, followed by M.T.G.

A.N.F. will go largely un-updated.

As reluctant as the Ashen One was to begin their search, he finds it's a welcome distraction to his hunt for lords. Moreover, he could spend time with his beloved on thier search.

Pump-A-Rum is a funny little thing, oft times dour, but sometimes bursting into tweets, jumping around, or gliding on an updraft. What would normally be an arduous trek is made a breeze by her assistance. She would scout for foes from above, an the Ashen One would toss her a firebomb. Catching it with her talons, she would fly over and drop it on the unsuspecting monsters.

While the two have great fun, the Firekeeper doesn't share their joy. In her whole life, she hasn't been more than a mile away from the shrine, and the journey is sending her into a panic. For the first time, her bare feet touch the soft grass, feel the sun-warmed rocks, and the cool stone of shaded ruins. Her soft silk robes whip about in the wind, and her long braid shifts across her back.

The Ashen One has chosen lighter garb for the journey, due to the slower pace of the group. He wears simple workers garb, sans the foolish hat, and simple cloth wraps around his forarms. A set of twinblades hang at his hips, their light weight and wide array of use perfect for travel.

The trio make for an odd sight, one that never fails to draw the attention of passers by. Undead are a dime a dozen these days, but firekeepers _never_ leave the safety of their flame. The Firekeeper's beauty didn't help matters, either. Most unusual of all is Pump-A-Rum, with her squawks, chirps, and feathers. More than a few travelers would recoil upon seeing her, muttering protective spells under their breath.

The little bird-brain takes no notice of them. Her attention span is much too short, more suited to scouting for mice or sweets. Lords help the traveler who had candy on his person. Two travelers had already fallen prey to her sweet-beak.

The Firekeeper already feels at home with the two, and she loves listening to them bicker. It helps keep her mind off of the anxiety of being away from the shrine.

"It's not a nest!" The Ashen One was saying.

"Is!"

"It's just my hair!"

"Small nest. Dirty nest. _Ugly_ nest."

He growls and makes a lunge for her, but she squawks and takes to the sky, giggling.

Pump-A-Rum flies over to the Firekeeper, wrapping her wings over her shoulders and smiling. The Firekeeper giggles behind her hand, facing away. The two women continue laughing long after the Ashen One stalks off, grumbling.


End file.
